


I Can’t Love if You Lie

by deandratb



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, amnesia!blaine, but also eventually not amnesia Blaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-11 13:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandratb/pseuds/deandratb
Summary: He doesn't remember. She can't forget. But like it or not, they're on the same team now.“So why did you do it? Rescue me? I know that’s what Mr. Boss expected, why he took me, but you didn’t have to. According to you, you don’t even remember me.”





	1. Hiding Under Other People's Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Because they deserve more love and I'm just not over it yet. Set shortly after "Salivation Army," won't be knowingly incorporating elements from canon S3.

Major personally escorted Peyton to the safe house, despite her half-hearted protests. Since he was the closest thing she had to a big brother, deep down she had expected nothing less.

“You.” He glowered at Blaine when the door opened, but there was little anger in it. They were a team now, no matter how much resentment bubbled under the surface.

Peyton had her gaze fixed just to the right of Major’s ear, as though Blaine didn’t exist. _Okay, maybe some resentment had breached the surface._

“And you.” There was no heat in Blaine’s voice. There was no inflection there at all. "Come in, please.”

“I’ve actually gotta go,” Major replied, entering to drop his duffel and then kissing Peyton’s forehead on the way out. “But you call me, if _**anything**_ \--” 

He visibly calmed himself. “Just, call me if you need me.”

Major's voice was brusque as he turned back to Blaine. “Keep her safe.”

Brow furrowed, Blaine stared after him. “Is he alright?”

She sighed. “He’s still pissed he wasn’t reachable when I got kidnapped. Like it’s his job to save everybody. He’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he tilted his head toward the couch behind them. “Want to sit?”

“I’m good.” Peyton regarded him from her stance near the door, and he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to sit. You should really consider making yourself comfortable. According to your friend, we’ll be here a while.”

“Comfortable seems like a long shot.” But she unthawed enough to take a seat in the chair next to him, and ignored the way his eyes followed her.

Blaine perched on the edge of the couch. “So, how have you been...since that night?”

_Days later, it still wouldn’t leave him be. Peyton had clung to him gratefully, shaking from the adrenaline. He’d reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, before the doctor--her boyfriend?--had cleared his throat from across the room, gun still in one hand._

_“Ravi,” she’d gasped when she saw him, and leapt up without a backwards glance in Blaine’s direction. Then it was Ravi hugging the woman Blaine saved, his face pressed into her neck like she was everything. Blaine ached watching them, and didn’t understand it._

Back in the present, Peyton was staring at him, and he realized she’d spoken while he was lost in thought. “Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve been fine.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Really. You got kidnapped and nearly killed last week, but you’re fine now.”

“Yep.” She challenged him to argue with her stubbornly lifted chin. “Hunky dory in the land of Peyton.”

“And having to come live here with me? The guy you hate because of whatever happened between us? That’s no big deal?”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes glittered at him. “That’s a huge deal. But I promised people who care about me that I’d put my safety first.”

Obviously, he was the last person she wanted to talk to about what had happened. It made sense, but Blaine found himself disappointed anyway. 

“Fair enough.” He relaxed into the couch and smiled. 

It was a guileless expression now, unsettling in the same face that Peyton knew had killed her best friend. She took a gray blanket from the back of the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “So...this is for real. Your whole lack-of-self thing.” 

After that night, Peyton no longer harbored any suspicion that he might have been faking the amnesia. 

_She could still feel his arms around her, hushing her as she tried to stop shaking. “It’s okay,” he kept saying, as though that would help._

_“It’s me, Peyton. It’s me.” Like that meant something._

But knowing he was telling the truth now didn’t change what came before; it couldn’t.

_She wouldn’t let it._

Peyton’s green eyes were wounded, and Blaine didn’t know why. More than anything, he wished he could remember the relationship they’d apparently had. _How badly did it end, to make her so angry?_

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’ve got nothing. My childhood, my criminal career...that whole undead thing? It’s like getting told a crazy story about somebody else. Doesn’t ring even the slightest of bells.”

Blaine sighed. He wasn’t sure risking her wrath was wise, but he was sick of not understanding. “When I talked to your, uh, guy, the doc? He couldn’t tell me details. Or didn’t want to. I don’t know. So, please--how deeply were we involved?”

“Oh.” Peyton shook her head. “We weren’t, really--not like that. A lot of long hours building the case, I think Mr. Boss got the wrong idea about us. We slept together once, I found out the truth about you, and that was that. Trying to use me as bait was stupid.”

“Not so stupid,” he pointed out. “It worked. I did go after you.”

“The way you are right now, sure.” She shrugged the memory of that terrifying night off again, pulled the blanket tighter around her. “But the real Blaine would never have bothered. I didn’t mean anything to him.”

Uncomfortable with her phrasing, as though he wasn’t a person sitting right in front of her, Blaine blinked before moving on.

“I doubt that’s true,” he told her. “I think your time together meant something to him. Me.”

“And why do you think that?”

Reaching a hand up, he tucked a curl behind her ear--aware that she was allowing it, aware of how carefully she was watching him. “Because I think it meant something to you. Even though you pretend it didn’t.”

Peyton looked away, too quickly. “I was just going through a dry spell. And you were...there.”

He shrugged, leaning back. “Well, it seems to me like you’d have good reason to want to distance yourself from sleeping with a monster.”

Blaine’s eyes flashed as he used the word, she saw it, but he continued. “So maybe it was just one night, or maybe it was one night with the potential for more--but now it’s easier to look back on it as a mistake that was never going to happen again.”

Resenting the hell out of his new perceptiveness, Peyton glowered at him. “Maybe.”

“And maybe,” he suggested with the lift of an eyebrow, “for me it was no big deal that sleeping with you could put the Mr. Boss case in jeopardy. Maybe I really was that reckless and short-sighted, in the middle of apparently wielding master plans and criminal empires. But I doubt it. It could have had a lot more to do with how smart and sharp and beautiful you are.”

There was a glimpse of the old Blaine, Peyton thought, strangely pleased to have her wariness justified. There was the man whose words were designed to charm and weaken before taking advantage, even if he didn’t know it now.

“Stop it.” Her tone was firm, only a little biting. 

“Complimenting you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t...do that, and not sound like the person you really are. That guy makes my skin crawl.”

“Wow.” He laughed hollowly. “Harsh.”

Peyton shrugged. “You’re all about honesty now, right? That’s the truth. John Deaux, who I worked with and defended--the man I thought I knew well enough to spend an ill-advised night with--turned out to be a murderer. And despite what you did for me...now I’m going to be trying to sleep in the same house with that face.”

Sighing, Blaine ran a hand through his hair. “So what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I'm trying to make things harder for you, Peyton. I have no idea when I’m acting...retro.”

The gesture reminded her of their night of stupidity and heat. _How much product do you got working in here? I think you put some serious time into this look._ It would be so much easier if looking back, she could tell herself he’d set out to seduce her, that she hadn’t crossed that line just as eagerly. 

At least now that she was the only one who remembered, she could take to her grave the fact that actually, he hesitated, and she breached his personal space first. No one needed to know about the intensely vulnerable moment when he paused to look down at her and she stared back...or the way she let herself be touched because her instincts said that maybe he wasn’t a good guy, strictly speaking, but he was sweet and sexy and really meant the things he said about redemption.

Amnesiac Blaine didn’t remember what came next, either: the way he seemed genuinely happy to see her, until he was surprised to see Liv. The way Peyton wasn’t able to hold eye contact, because even while she was horrified to have been so easily played, his faux-sincerity still tugged at her a little. The man she had **thought** he was tugged at her, a little. _She would be taking that one to her grave as well._

Resigned to the fact that she had this version of Blaine to deal with, Peyton gave in and asked the question that she’d been mulling over since it happened. “So why did you do it? Rescue me? I know that’s what Mr. Boss expected, why he took me, but you didn’t have to.” 

Searching for the words, he took his time answering. “I felt like I needed to. It was my fault you were taken. And also...when you came to Shady Plots that day and accused me of faking, when you talked to me like you knew me...I felt something.”

Peyton’s eyes narrowed. In this light, he could see rings of gold centering the deep sea green.

He pressed on. “You have every right to hate me. If I remembered half the things I’ve been told that I did, I would probably hate myself. But even though I didn’t recognize you when we re-met, there was something there. So I’m sure this sounds crazy, but those people who care about you? I think I’m one of them.”

****

Peyton spent her night curled up in the office she found down the hall, staring blankly at the trashy romance novel she’d plucked off a shelf. She and Liv used to giggle over these, beachside on spring break when they let themselves de-stress. Now, unable to focus on it, she wondered if life would ever feel simple again. 

When the door opened with no warning, she sprang to her feet, back pressed to the wall. 

“Hey! Hey,” Blaine added more gently, alarmed by her defensive stance. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”

She let out the breath she was holding, eyes locked on his while he shut the door behind himself softly. “No. No, I’m sorry. Stupid of me. To be so jumpy, when everybody’s here.”

"They’ve all crashed for the night,” he told her. “I assumed you were asleep too.”

Her heart was still racing. “I couldn’t. Didn’t think anybody would mind if I hung out in here instead,” she added, turning away to return the paperback to its spot.

“Nobody does.” Blaine took the desk chair and waited while she visibly weighed her options. In the end, she went back to the office sofa, stretching out across it so that her face was as far from his as she could manage in the small space.

Liv and Major were bunking together in the master bedroom, Peyton knew, and Ravi was next door to them, where he had welcomed her in case she didn’t feel safe in her room alone. 

With the anxiety and anger rattling around in her brain, she hadn’t wanted company...but somehow, being in Blaine’s presence was different than the sweet but oppressive concern of her friends. Maybe because he was such a blank slate of a person at the moment. 

It was almost soothing, if she pretended it were real. _Of course, he had to speak, and spoil that._

“You can’t sleep?”

She shrugged. 

“Is the room okay?”

“It’s fine.” Like the ones her friends were staying in, it was clean, if a bit cold. But she had found herself sitting on the bed, frozen in place, listening for any tiny sounds outside, and knew she couldn’t stay there.

Blaine frowned. He was silent for so long that Peyton shut her eyes, hopeful that maybe he would leave again, freeing her from more questions.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Peyton opened her eyes again, and found him sitting slightly closer then she remembered, concern lining his face.

She relented, just a little, because his pale eyes were sincere--and while she couldn’t separate Blaine from his past, he couldn’t connect to it. _Was it fair to treat him like someone he had no memory of?_

“Doubtful. I just...when I close my eyes, I see things I don’t want to see. When I try to relax, it doesn’t work. So of course sleep’s not happening.”

Nodding, Blaine steepled his fingers together. Then his eyes lit up, transforming his face. “I have an idea.”

“Really.”

“Yep.” He rose to tower over her prone position on the couch, standing in front of the wall shelves.

Uncomfortable with his close proximity, Peyton held very still until he moved back to the chair, book in hand. “And what’s your idea?”

“Audiobooks.” He grinned at her. “The live version.”

She gaped at him. “Huh? You don’t mean...” 

“It’s worth a shot,” he offered. “Worst case scenario, you rest a little and hopefully relax. Best case, maybe you get some shuteye.”

“I’m not going to let you spend your night in here reading to me. Go to bed yourself, Blaine.”

His reply was droll. “You’re not the boss of me, Peyton. There’s no harm in trying. I’d like to help,” he added softly. 

Then he hit a weak spot--her pride. “Unless you’re afraid?”

“What could I be afraid of?”

“Beats me.” Taking that as a win, Blaine settled back in the squeaky chair and flipped open the front cover of the book. “Tonight’s reading shall be the classic tale of David Copperfield--not the magician.”

“Dickens,” Peyton murmured, watching him through lowered lashes. _Not the worst choice. He liked winding descriptions; she’d always found it soothing._

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else...these pages must show.” 

Blaine’s reading voice, his attempt at a calming tone, was silkier than his normal one--somehow richer but not deeper. Listening to it glide over the words, she was reminded of their half-drunken flirting on the couch, jumping in and out of accents. 

As Blaine drowned out the flashbacks and she began to drift off, Peyton wished she had the option of taking comfort in his presence. If only she could forget the history that made her queasy...as easily as he had.

Peyton woke up alone the next morning, covered by a blanket. When she left the room, she found a ‘do not disturb’ sign taped to the outside of the door. It made her smile.


	2. Is Love A Feature Of Your Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reluctant revelations in small spaces; beauty in the dark of night. _“He refused to let his mind wander where it wanted to go. Clearly he had sense memories of her, whether he’d ever remember them or not, because it was too easy to drift there in his head, like a reflex, a path he’d walked before.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any similarities to S3 are still accidental, as I haven’t seen it yet. This one is heavy on Peyton's POV, next chapter will have more Blaine.

“So, what do you like to do for fun?”

Blaine hadn't spoken to her much in the last few days--no easy feat when the house was small and they were tucked protectively inside it. His sudden appearance startled her.

“Um, a lot of things. Read. Travel. Not be on the run from murderous crime bosses.”

Closing her eyes, Peyton sighed. “Sorry.”

“No, I probably deserved that one.” He took a seat in the dining room chair across the table from her, scanned the papers she had strewn across it. “Working on the case?”

“What case? They killed it, and the guy I was trying to bring down nearly killed me.” She set down a folder. “I’m not sure what the point of any of this is anymore.”

“That’s crazy,” he argued. “We spent what, weeks? Months? With you piecing this together. You get kidnapped once and you’re just going to let that scare you off?”

His crooked, deliberate grin made her laugh. “Fine. I take your point, and yes, here I am still trying to work on the case. Not sure what else to do, honestly. I’ve never been good at just...sitting around.”

“What about you?” She turned her face to his, and Blaine was struck by the way her eyes were a slightly different color when they weren’t hostile. More misty forest, less stormy seas.

“Hmm?”

Peyton rolled her eyes, pulling him back to the moment. “What do you do for fun? I know how I’ve been keeping busy lately, but I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Oh.” He flushed a little. “I’ve just been around. Reading, checking out the house. Writing.”

He admitted the last part with visible guilt, like a kid expecting a lecture. She was surprised, but not unpleasantly. “You write?”

“Yeah. I mean, I do right now. And I did...when I was much younger.” He looked at her for a few long moments--just stared, as if measuring something. Then he continued.

“Like I said, I’ve been exploring the house. I knew this place had come to my family in some convoluted way that wasn’t traceable among my holdings. I assumed it was owned by someone else before that, people not connected to us.”

Blaine shrugged. “Either way, I found a box of stuff in the basement” _\--the basement, Peyton thought, that explained his successful disappearance--_ “while I was poking around, looking for more books. It was all from my childhood, my teen years...from me.”

“You kept journals?”

“Up to a point, yeah. I have to assume that after a while I was too busy with the drugs and...everything. But before then, I wrote a lot.”

He tugged on his hair, uneasy at having revealed that much. “So I’ve been writing. I’m hoping maybe it can help.”

A sharp pang hit Peyton in the stomach. “Have you been remembering things, then?”

On the one hand, it would make everything easier. Put things to rights. Once he was Blaine again, he could leave them alone, not be their responsibility. But on the other hand...she hadn’t figured him out yet. She was irritated by unfinished puzzles, and Blaine, who had violated her trust and then saved her life, was definitely a jigsaw without all his pieces.

“No,” Blaine told her sincerely, and she felt relief--and then guilt, for feeling relieved.

“I’m still not getting anything about before, but I’ve been writing about now. About what I’m learning I like, about my experiences since I started over.”

_About you._

He didn’t say it; he didn’t have to. She heard it anyway.

“I’d rather you didn’t include me,” Peyton told him, but she said it with a shrug, as if she were brushing her own words away before they landed.

He nodded, taking her seriously anyway. “Why not?”

“It’s just...weird. I mean, are you writing about David Copperfield?”

****

_It had been two weeks now of living together, one big strange family in the tidy safe house, and that first night of Blaine reading to her had turned into a regular occurrence. Dickens was slow-going, especially since he started the story over from where Peyton last remembered hearing it, every time. How his instincts were so impeccable for when sleep hit her, she would never know._

_It shamed her how much safer she felt with Blaine around. She knew that she shouldn’t; she knew what a betrayal of Liv it was--but she tried to fall asleep in her temporary room and woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares...too many nightmares. So as the days passed by, she found herself back in the office every night, and no matter how late it was by the time the rest of the group fell asleep, he always came to her._

_It was Blaine who finally broached the subject a few nights in. “Hey, Peyton? You should really stop sleeping on the couch.”_

_She frowned._

_“I’m serious. You’ve got a perfectly good bed waiting for you, right down the hall from your friends in case you wake and need company.”_

_Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Peyton considered his words. The problem wasn’t the couch at all. The problem was that she’d grown to depend on this ritual to keep the memories at bay._

_Blaine delivered his next words so softly she could almost believe she'd imagined them. “I’ll still read to you, if you want.”_

_Her eyes pinned him in place, needy, scared, but still angry--and somehow so much more compelling for all that._

_“I’d like that,” she whispered back, and he accepted the trust she was giving him._

_There was an overstuffed chair in the corner of her room when Blaine entered behind her. He settled into it, flipping open the old cover and returning to where they’d left off, his voice caressing the words as though he loved this story...as though it comforted him as much as it did her._

_The bedroom was too big, compared to the office, which Peyton hadn’t considered when she invited him in. “I can’t hear you,” she admitted reluctantly._

_Blaine’s head lifted, and he looked around the room, his eyes returning to hers helplessly. Clearly he’d come to the same conclusion she had. Peyton knew then that things had begun to change for her, because she didn’t have to think about it for very long._

_“Come here,” she said, with a resigned sigh._

_He was frozen, certain he’d misheard her, until she gestured impatiently. “You want to help, right? That’s what you told me.”_

_Nodding, he stepped toward her bed with caution._

_“So, keep reading to me. From here, otherwise I won’t be able to hear you, and then what’s the point?” Her no-nonsense tone made Blaine smile; he wasn’t sure why it was such an attractive quality on Peyton, but he found it delightful. Even in the brief time he’d known her, it was clear that she knew what she wanted and went for it...and then there was a fragility she tried not to show anyone. That tugged at him, too._

_Okay, he might be spending his nights sleep-deprived just to watch over her and give her some peace of mind, but he could hardly be blamed for that. He was pretty sure he was half in love with her already._

_Blaine sat himself carefully at the foot of her bed, on the empty side, as close to propriety as he could manage. He refused to let his mind wander where it wanted to go. Clearly he had sense memories of her, whether he’d ever remember them or not, because it was too easy to drift there in his head, like a reflex, a path he’d travelled down before._

_A beautiful, tempting path, with sleepy eyes watching him warily as though he was the wolf she’d just encountered in the forest and chosen to walk with for a while. Shaking his head, Blaine turned his attention back to Dickens, and felt the bed shudder beneath him as Peyton settled into it._

_“It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible,” he began. “There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a military-looking child who was trundling a hoop.”_

_As his voice sketched out the room inside the story, Peyton closed her eyes, seeming undisturbed by his closeness. She relaxed while the story continued, sliding more quickly into sleep than she had on the couch. Bookmarking the pages, Blaine kept reading long after her breathing slowed and deepened, unwilling to leave right away. Not wanting to leave at all. Exiting silently, reluctantly, once he was sure she would sleep soundly without him--and once he was sure the others weren’t likely to wake and see him leaving her room._

_He didn’t care about their opinions, since they all hated him anyway, but Peyton didn’t need them thinking the worst of her._

_So he crept back to his own room, careful to disturb no one, especially not the woman he’d done his best to lull into dreamless rest. ___

__****_ _

__Blaine looked away, and she didn’t wait for him to admit the truth out loud. “See, that’s why I’d rather you didn’t. I’d really rather there wasn’t a **record** of...what we’re doing.”_ _

__He couldn’t help it. “And what exactly are we doing?”_ _

__“You know what I mean.”_ _

__“I do.” The grin he flashed her was so warm, and bright, it barely reminded her of who he used to be at all. “But I want to hear you explain it. Admit it, out loud. That’s your problem, right, Peyton? You don’t want me writing about you because then you might have to admit something to yourself.”_ _

__Her face was stony, self-protective. Blaine left without saying more, and she assumed that he was angry with her in return, but realized she was wrong when she went to her room that night and found a spiral-bound notebook next to her bed instead of David Copperfield._ _

_“Read it,”_ the note taped to the cover said simply.

__As soon as Peyton opened the notebook, she understood that Blaine had never planned for anyone to see this--and what it meant, him giving it to her. The journal was him talking candidly to himself, spanning the length of time that he’d gone without his memories so far._ _

__It was also often rambling or downright chaotic, illustrating the progression of a mind trying to understand itself without identity. But as time passed, it had become more coherent. Sometimes it was almost poetic, as he’d made observations based on his childhood diaries and noted feelings. And, nearly from the beginning, there she was._ _

__Peyton, confounding him in the mortuary. Peyton, giving him a purpose with their reading sessions. He talked about the others, too, Liv with her wounded eyes and Don E.’s patronizing annoyance with Blaine once he became less cooperative. But Blaine kept coming back to her in his writing, the same way he did to her room every night._ _

__Reading his attempts to understand himself, she wished that he could be granted access to his memories again, despite what it would mean for her. Some of his passages even made her tear up, which she would never admit to anyone. By the time she closed the notebook, Peyton knew why he had given it to her._ _

__She understood him now. Probably better than he did, since she had his recent past to add to the picture. And she couldn’t know him like she did, see him for who he was, and not admit that there were feelings there. Feelings she resented, complicated feelings, but actual genuine emotion. For Blaine._ _

__It was his fault, she thought to herself as she set the notebook aside and turned off the light, snuggling into the covers. As this new man, who didn’t remember their history, he had to go and fall for her._ _

__She had a weakness for that._ _

__Alone with her thoughts, Peyton wasn’t able to sleep. Tonight, though, it wasn’t the noises or the nightmares. It was simpler--it was him. She felt the lack of him too dearly to push it out of her head and drift off._ _

__Sighing, Peyton sat up, opening her eyes to the darkness and waiting for them to adjust. She had to hope this wouldn’t be a terrible violation of privacy._ _

__Tiptoeing out of her room, she crossed the hall to his, keeping her ears perked for signs of the others. She could hear Ravi’s light snoring; nothing that warned her a door was about to open. Still, she didn’t want to risk getting anyone’s attention by knocking, so she slid into Blaine’s room and shut the door behind her silently, enveloping herself in the shadows._ _

__With her eyes slightly more adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the furniture in the room, and there was just a touch of moonlight streaming through the window to help her along. Funny, she wouldn’t have pegged Blaine as the type to sleep with his window open, but she could feel a slight breeze wafting beyond the curtains._ _

__She hadn’t thought this through, Peyton realized as she caught the outline of his bed. Was she going to wake him? How? Maybe she could just find somewhere to sit and doze, to avoid the loneliness of her own room._ _

__Blaine saved her from having to figure it out. “Hey,” she heard him say softly. From her position next to the door, she finally realized he wasn’t in his bed. He was sitting across the room, in the corner behind the window._ _

__When he leaned forward, the moonbeams cut across his face, making him look more intimidating than usual. She swallowed hard, feeling the slight trickle of fear--and something else she chose to ignore--dampen her palms. She shouldn’t have done this._ _

__“You okay?” Eyes shining, Blaine didn’t move toward her, and she wondered whether it was to keep from spooking her or because he didn’t know what to expect._ _

__“Yeah.” Shaking her hair back, Peyton straightened up, reminding herself that she could handle Blaine. She crossed the room to hand him his notebook. “I just wanted to give you this back.”_ _

__He turned to look out the window, no longer making eye contact at all. In this light, she thought, his eyes were so blue they almost lost their color entirely._ _

__“Did you read it?”_ _

__His voice was rough, a tangle of raw hope and premature dejection. She couldn’t stop the sympathy, though she squashed it hard._ _

__“Yeah.” When Blaine took the notebook and his fingers brushed hers, she looked away as well. Such a simple connection shouldn’t make her shiver, or give her flashbacks, but it did._ _

__She sat on the edge of his unmade bed to face him. “Couldn’t sleep?”_ _

__“Nah.” He offered the stars a sad attempt at a smile._ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“Oh, you name it. Zombie apocalypse, psycho-killer history to atone for, living with people who hate me...it doesn’t make for restful nights.”_ _

__Peyton nodded. “Well, I guess that explains why you didn’t mind staying up to keep me company.”_ _

__“Yeah, that must be why.” He shifted in his chair, still looking out the window. “You don’t have to say anything about the notebook, okay? I just wanted you to know I didn’t write anything about you that was horrible. And I won’t mention you again.”_ _

__Peyton sat thoughtfully for a moment before making her decision. Once made, they were firm. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s okay if you do. I’m fine with it.”_ _

__“Okay...” He finally looked back at her. “Why?”_ _

__Peyton wasn’t able to think of an explanation that would be satisfactory without also giving too much away. She moved a shoulder uncomfortably. “I just am.”_ _

__“But-”_ _

__She reached out and gripped his forearm, startling him into the silence she preferred. “Take the win, would you? Just don’t show anybody what you write about me. Ever.”_ _

__“Deal.”_ _

__“If you do,” she warned him, “I’ll kill you.”_ _

__“Understood.” Blaine grinned at her and she held back the quirk of her own lips._ _

__“I promise you, I could do it, and no one would ever wonder where you were.”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Blaine removed her hand from his arm by lacing her fingers with his. She’d forgotten she was even touching him. Now he was smiling and they were holding hands and the moonlight was glowing over his ridiculous bleached hair and she was in trouble._ _

__“Okay.” She detangled herself from him, backing away from the bed, willing to look foolish in full retreat. Better that than the slow slide back into old habits._ _

__He wasn’t who he’d been...except he was. And someday, he could start getting his memories back. She couldn't bear giving Blaine the ability to sneer at her and point out that she had been his willing conquest a second time._ _

__He watched her leave with a knowing expression on his face, but didn’t try to stop her._ _

__“Sleep well,” he murmured instead._ _

__Neither of them did._ _

__****_ _

__When Blaine didn’t come to her the next night, she wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed. Peyton considered and rejected the idea of going to his room again. Too forward; definitely asking for trouble. There was no way he wouldn’t see it as meaning more than she intended._ _

__She just...she wanted this new lifeline. She wanted to keep it, at least while they were on hold in this little house, plans flowing around them and the zombie hordes at bay for the time being._ _

__So instead of intruding on Blaine, and unable to stay in a room that felt even emptier now that she was used to his carefully restrained presence on her bed, Peyton snuck back to the empty office at 2 a.m._ _

__Only it wasn’t empty. This time it was Blaine who appeared to be using it with the expectation of solitude, and he lacked her instinctive terror._ _

__After what happened with Liv, when she was nearly killed by a zombie, it took her a long time to heal from the trauma of that--to not jump at every floor creak or car door slamming. It didn’t matter that Liv, also a zombie, had saved her...the experience had knocked her down hard. But she had recovered. She knew she could do so again--she was Peyton Charles, after all. It would just take time._ _

__Blaine was clearly less jumpy, despite actually dying along the way. And apparently he was pretty tired, because when she entered and found him stretched out on the couch, it was her automatic apology that woke him. She might have gotten away with backing out the door, Peyton thought ruefully, if she had said nothing. Instead, Blaine blinked slowly as he focused on her._ _

__“Fancy meeting you here,” he said with a yawn, covering his mouth and waiting for her to do or say something._ _

__“Yeah.” Peyton took the chair this time, mildly amused at the turning of tables. “Why aren’t you in your room?”_ _

__Blaine sat up, halfheartedly trying to pat his hair back into shape--bedhead didn’t suit his image, old or newly-formed. He stared at her, silent for an unsettlingly long time before asking, “Truth?”_ _

__She blinked. “Sure. Truth.”_ _

__There was still a touch of sleep slurring his words, though his eyes were clear. “Missed you.”_ _

__Peyton flinched. “Oh.”_ _

__“Yeah. Pretty much the reaction I was expecting.”_ _

__She nodded. “Truth?”_ _

__His eyes cut through her with the hope in them. If she hadn’t already made the impulsive decision to be honest when she found him there, she would have been helpless to resist._ _

__“Me too.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Aiming for cool, even nonchalant, he attempted to cover his joy. Blaine Debeers was terrible at nonchalant, Peyton noted with fondness._ _

__Then she noted her fondness with terror, and knew that she had crossed a line somewhere along the way. No turning back. Too late. All the sirens and warning signs couldn’t help her now._ _

_Damn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from "Is This Love" by Governors.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from "Is This Love" by Governors.


End file.
